


Objective independent existence

by ElineHasAllTheFeels



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Coda, Episode Tag, Episode: s12e02 Mamma Mia, Gen, Hallucinating Sam Winchester, Hallucinations, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Dean Winchester, Psychological Trauma, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:47:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27016009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElineHasAllTheFeels/pseuds/ElineHasAllTheFeels
Summary: It isn't real. He knows that.When Dean and Mary come barging in to save him from the British Men of Letters, Sam knows it isn't real. Dean's dead, so is his mom. This is just one long, drawn out, cruel hallucination brought on by Toni.Objectively, he knows that. He cannot let them know he knows, though. So all Sam has to do is play along.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 34
Kudos: 135





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, all!  
> Long time reader, first time poster for this fandom. This specific episode is one that simply refused to let me go. I have read basically every episode tag for 12x02 there is, and decided to try my own hand at it. There will probably be only one more chapter, wrapping this all up nicely and letting the boys go their merry way. I just had to get in a little whump in the meantime.
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy!

_Real_. Such a strange word, if you think about it. Sam hasn’t really thought about whether things were real or not in a while; he doesn’t have to. The things he’s seen throughout the years make him believe there’s a kernel of truth to every story. Not much will surprise him anymore.

There was a time, though, where Sam did have to think about how real the things he saw were. His visions caused by the yellow-eyed demon. The things he saw during demon blood withdrawal. The hallucinations Lucifer had put him through. For the longest time, the scar on his left hand had helped him distinguish between fact and fiction. But as he presses it into the unforgiving wood of the chair now, nothing happens. He’s not sure what that implies, really.

Once, on one of the many nights he hadn’t been able to sleep, he’d looked up the definition of ‘real’. It hadn’t helped him make sense of things much. The Merriam-Webster dictionary listed real as ‘having objective independent existence’. But how do you assess whether something has objective independent existence when you’re neither objective, independently thinking, nor sure you’re existing?

All this goes through Sam’s mind as his brother unlocks the cuffs shackling him to the chair. Dean is chattering away, keeping up a constant stream of words that don’t seem to have any meaning to Sam at all.

 _Dean_.

Dean is supposed to be dead. He’d gone to find Amara, and the world hadn’t ended, so he had succeeded. Which means he had died. Yet, somehow, his older brother is crouched right in front of him, telling him something about god knows what. Sam squints a little, trying to figure out what is going on.

He narrows this down to three possibilities. One, he is dead and none of this is real. He quickly rules that one out. His foot is burning, and every single muscle in his body is screaming, and all that means he can’t be dead. If he’s in heaven, he wouldn’t hurt that much. If he’s in hell, he would hurt a whole lot more. And too much is happening for this to be the Empty. So unless purgatory now accepts deceased humans instead of just monsters, he can’t be dead. Sam conveniently glosses over the fact that, after all that he’s done, he’s probably more monster than human anyway. 

Two, the world not having ended isn’t real. He doesn’t give this option much thought. If the world didn’t end, he would be dead, and he has just assessed that he’s very much alive. So, that leaves one last option. Three, Dean isn’t real.

This thought hits him like a punch in the gut, and he gasps for air.

‘Sammy? Sam, look at me. Take a breath, just like that. I am going to hunt that British bitch and kill her, I swear to…’

As Dean goes on his little rant, Sam follows his instructions and takes in a few gulps of air. Dean sure does look like Dean, he’ll give him that. And he acts like him too. But that is to be expected if this isn’t real. Sam’s been through enough hallucinations to know how perfectly real they seem. And Toni had proven to be more than a little adapt at screwing with his mind. So, no matter how much this Dean looks like Dean, and talks like Dean, and acts like Dean, and is everything that Dean was, this is not Dean.

Sam doesn’t feel like Sam anymore, either.

Dean is dead. That is the only explanation for any of this. Dean died saving the world, and Sam is still stuck in a basement being tortured by the British Men of Letters. He cannot give them the satisfaction of knowing that he’s onto them. Besides, if they find out he knows, who knows what they’ll do next? He cannot even begin to fathom what could be worse than seeing Dean the way he is now. Breathing, moving, talking.

 _Alive_.

‘Hey, can you hear me?’

Now that Sam knows Dean isn’t real, the image of his brother is starting to show some cracks. His voice sounds almost impossibly gentle, and there is something in his eyes Sam hasn’t seen in a long, long time; genuine, honest concern. Yeah, this isn’t his brother.

‘Yeah.’

His voice is raw from the screaming, and talking hurts a little. He winces, and this was the wrong thing to do, because his foot hits something and suddenly Dean is gone, there is only white and static and pain pain pain pain pain. A calloused hand is laid on his neck, and before he can stop himself Sam leans into it.

It takes a second for Sam to get himself under control again. His breathing levels out, and his vision becomes less blurry. When Dean asks whether Sam’s with him, he cannot supress a snort. Because how can Sam be with Dean if Dean isn’t even real?

The concern on Dean’s face hasn’t let up for a second, and he looks over his shoulder to two figures standing at the stairs. The familiar figure of Castiel isn’t all that surprising. Where Dean goes, Cas tends to follow. The person next to Castiel makes him blink a couple of times, though.

_Is that their mother?_

When Dean had been in chains and Mary had barged in to save the day, Sam hadn’t believed his eyes. His mother was dead, burned on a ceiling when he was six months old. There was no possible way for her to be here right now. And yet here she is, looking at him with eyes that remind him of Dean’s, and all he can do is stare back.

It’s not real, Sam reminds himself. It’s hard, not giving in and letting himself believe Dean is real, because he simply wants it to be true so much. He wants his brother to be alive and for him to get Sam out of here and his brother to be alive and for him to make the pain stop and his brother to be alive. But as he looks at his mother, it’s a stark reminder that it isn’t real. That it can’t be. Because the two of them have proven again and again that coming back from the dead is possible, but after this many years? With the body burnt? No way in hell.

There is something strangely comforting about Mary’s presence. Looking at Dean hurts, because he’s here, but more so because once the illusion ends he’ll be gone. If Sam is starting to believe the illusion because he wants it, _needs it_ , he just has to look at his mom to know what’s really going on.

 _His fake mom_ , he corrects himself.

Dean is speaking again, but it’s too fast for Sam to be able to understand much of it. It’s like his head is submerged in water, and things happen in slow motion. He sits back a little, the broken restraints finally allowing him to shift positions, trying to get his bearings and create a play.

This is one hell of a hallucination, he has to give Toni that. The one before had been a lot shorter, and a lot less detailed. It had just been him and her and sheets and… No, he doesn’t want to think about that. He doesn’t want to think about that ever again. He files the memory away, hoping that for now that will be enough.

‘… in a bad way, Cas. You have to heal him.’

At these words, Sam snaps back to attention. Of course! Suddenly, everything that is happening is crystal clear. He’s reaching the end of his physical limits. He knows it, and the Brits know it. They also both know that Sam is more than willing to go past those limits. Torture him more and he will die, not having said a word. Don’t torture him more, and they still won’t know anything. They’re at a stalemate, and there’s only one way out. Healing him to start all over.

With a burst of energy fuelled purely by adrenaline, Sam gets up from the chair and backs away from the approaching angel. ‘Don’t,’ he manages to push out through gritted teeth. His foot is burning and the bullet wound in his leg is aching and he hurts everywhere, but as he sways on his feet, eight words keep repeating themselves in his head, becoming a mantra he clings to. _Don’t let them trick you into getting healed_.

‘Sam? You’re freaking me out, man. Just let Cas-‘

‘NO!’

‘Okay, okay! No healing!’

Dean’s outstretched hands look odd. There are two, and then there are four. Then eight, six, and… One? That’s not right. That’s definitely not right. The lights in the room are flashing and the ground is shaking and suddenly his head is feeling even more weird than it already was and he is falling and the only thing stopping him from hitting the ground are two hands, definitely two, and there is shouting and pain and nothing.

It all goes black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little nervous about posting this one, so would love to know what you think! New chapter will be up soonish, hopefully later this week :D


	2. Chapter 2

When Sam wakes up, everything is on fire. It’s like he’s back in hell, and for a split second he wonders if this means he’s dead at last. A bloodcurdling scream sounds, and he realizes a second too late that it’s his.

‘Shit. Sammy, are you awake? Can you hear me?’

With a supernatural amount of effort, Sam pushes open his eyelids, and at what he sees wants to close them again straight away. Memories start crashing down on him, and the little relieve he felt at the idea of being dead fades away quickly. Dean stares at him, eyes unreadable because of the sheer amount of emotions displayed in them, and Sam feels like he’s going to be sick.

He tells himself it’s because of the pain in his foot, but as he gags and Dean immediately produces a bucket out of nowhere and supports his head as he throws up the meagre contents of his stomach, even Sam can tell that’s a lie.

‘Easy there,’ Dean mutters, gently laying Sam’s head back on the cot. He’s in the bunker’s infirmary, he now notices. He wants to make a joke about how hard it must have been to carry him here from the car, but then he thinks about Dean getting him into the car in the first place, and about the basement and everything that went down there and he feels like he can’t breathe and his head is spinning and his eyes are tearing up and he’s scared, damnit, so scared for what they’ll do to him after this hallucination ends and…

‘HEY!’

Sam flinches, and immediately Dean starts muttering things he can’t quite make out. His breathing is shallow, but at least it becomes somewhat regular, and Dean notices this too. He smiles encouragingly, and it is so very Dean that Sam feels like he’s being punched in the gut. It’s not real, he reminds himself. Not real.

‘You were out for a little bit. We carried you inside, brought you here first to patch you up. Unless you’re okay with Cas healing you…?’

Dean sounds hopeful, but Sam is already shaking his head before his brother finishes. Don’t let them trick you into getting healed. Don’t let them trick you into getting healed. Don’t let them trick you into getting healed. Don’t let the…

‘Alright, then we’re doing this the old-fashioned way. This is going to get infected, so I need to put burn cream on your foot and bandage it up. Think you can manage? I’d give you some of the good drugs, but I don’t like the way you’re looking at me so I can’t rule out a head injury.’

Even though none of this is funny, none of this at all, Sam feels a laugh bubbling up in his throat. Sam can understand fake Dean doesn’t like the way he’s looking at him, but it’s not because of an injury. If his fake brother only knew.

Dean clearly interprets the gurgling laugh as a yes, as he grabs the ointment and the bandages. ‘Sammy, this is going to hurt like a bitch, I’m warning you.’

_As if I’ve never been burned before_.

The snarky reply is on the tip of his tongue, but he holds it in. No need to let on that he’s onto fake Dean. Real Dean would know he’d gone through way worse. Real Dean wouldn’t warn him but just get right in with his fingers. Real Dean would…

Fake Dean doesn’t waste any time, and everything is burning again. All Sam can muster this time around is a faint whimper. Fake Dean is muttering under his breath, soft words that are probably meant to calm him down, but only push him more towards the edge. Real Dean wouldn’t apologize. Real Dean wouldn’t be so gentle. Real Dean wouldn’t care so much. Maybe years ago he would have, but not anymore.

As the pain builds, Sam feels oblivion calling his name, and he gratefully leans into it. Hopefully when he wakes up, the hallucination will be over. To hell with whatever Toni has planned for him afterwards, it can’t be worse than this.

When Sam wakes up, the hallucination is far from over. The first thing he notices is the dull throbbing of his foot, right in time with his heartbeat. It hurts, but there is also something comfortably consistent about it. The pain grounds him in a familiar, soothing way. Sam doesn’t even want to get into what that says about him or his mental state.

He’s lying on sheets, and for a second it feels like the wind gets knocked out of him. Sheets. What if when he opens his eyes she will be there? What if this was all a very long winded set-up to have him let his guard down, only so she can prey on him? What if she’d just been in that bed, waiting for a round two? What if…

His hand finds the hole in the comforter that’d been there since the day Dean and he moved into the bunker. Sam should’ve replaced the blanket the moment he’d noticed, and he had fully intended to do so, but something had stopped him. He quite liked the one imperfection in the sudden, too good to be true change to their way of living the bunker had been back then. It reminded him of rundown motels and long nights on the road. It reminded Sam of home.

This small imperfection means he is in the bunker, not in Toni’s bed. He lets out a relieved sigh. One less thing to worry about. But as he opens his eyes and notices the sleeping figure in the chair next to him, he knows his worries are far from over.

When Dean sleeps, it’s like he becomes a whole different person. The worries and the burdens and the guilt, so much guilt, seem to wash away. Sometimes, when Sam can’t sleep and he can no longer focus on his laptop, he looks at Dean sleeping and allows his mind to wander. Back to when his brother’s face always looked like this even when he was awake. Back to when life was simpler. Back to when he was Sam and Dean was Dean, and that was enough.

Sam looks at fake Dean now with those same eyes. Everything about the other man screams Dean, but Sam knows this is how they get him, and he’s not intending on getting found out.

‘Hey. G‘morning, sleeping beauty.’

Sam must have zoned out for a second, because suddenly Dean is sitting up in his chair looking rumpled from sleep but very much awake. Or maybe he didn’t zone out and the hallucination is losing its strength. He shudders to think what will happen once it’s over.

When Sam doesn’t respond, fake Dean scrubs a hand over his face. ‘Alright, Sam, talk to me. What did they do to you, and why do you think this is fake?’

Sam opens his mouth to respond, and closes it again. He stares at fake Dean, and can’t quite process what he said. Dean knows? But how? Sam had been playing along perfectly, there was no way. And what does this mean for him, exactly? If Dean knows, Toni knows. Why isn’t the hallucination over? Why is he still here?

Dean interprets his distress as confusion, which is only partially correct, and says ‘Call it big brother’s intuition,’ with a crooked smile. When Sam simply stares back, Dean drops the smile and concedes, ‘And you talk in your sleep.’

_Shit_.

He knows he should have a plan ready, knows he should be prepared for anything, but his mind has been fuzzy from the very first moment he woke up tied to the chair in that basement and he is lost for words. Sam looks at Dean, his eyes full of concern for his younger brother once more, and all Sam can think to do is go along with it. Go along with whatever fake Dean wants, as long as Sam possibly can. It’s not a plan, not by a long shot, but it’s all that he’s got. Doesn’t mean he has to be nice about it, though.

‘As if you really need me to tell you, you British scum.’

Dean frowns, and puts up a hand. ‘Hold up. You think I’m British? Sammy, I’m very flattered that you like my accent, but last time I checked it was still very much Kansas with a dash of the entire United States.’ 

Fake Dean is a good actor, but Sam never expected any less. It’s a bit odd, though, that he’s still putting up so much of a show. You’d think that, after revealing all their cards, one would dial it back a bit. But Dean is still staring at Sam with those eyes, and the entire ordeal is confusing him, to say the least.

‘Alright, this is not getting us anywhere. How about I ask you questions, and you simply nod or something? Can you do that?’

Dean looks tired to the bone all of a sudden, and Sam tilts his head looking at it. It’s almost as if the situation is truly weighing on his fake brother. Impressive, really. Sam nods, giving Dean the sign that he can begin.

‘You think this is fake.’

It’s a statement more than a question, but Sam still nods, just in case.

‘So, what is this, then? Pipe dream?’

‘Hallucination, more like.’ It’s not like the British Men of Letters aren’t on him already, anyway. The edges of his vision start to get a little hazy, and he attributes it to the hallucination slowly starting to ease up.

‘A hallucination. Brought on by what? That British bitch back in the basement?’

Not trusting his voice to speak at the mention of Toni, Sam merely nods.

‘What does that make me?’

Briefly, something flashes on Dean’s face that can only be described as anger. Sam flinches and instinctively tries to back away from his fake brother. Just because this is a hallucination doesn’t mean fake Dean can’t do things to him. It’s not like any of that stopped Toni after all, when she… _Focus, Sam_.

‘Guess that answers that…’ Dean mutters, so soft that he probably didn’t mean for Sam to hear. But of course Sam heard. That’s how this entire hallucination deal works, after all.

‘Alright. We’ve been here before, and we’ve won, so that’s what we will do again. How can I convince you all of this is real?’

Sam frowns. This is not the direction he thought this’d be going. Why would fake Dean try and convince Sam that he was in fact real? What was in it for Dean? Perhaps it’s a tactic to make the whole thing last longer? Make him believe it’s real, so that it is all the more painful when it all comes crashing down. Or maybe this is a very elaborate scheme to get him to agree to be healed anyway? Sam is having a lot of trouble trying to wrap his head around the situation.

‘Objective independent existence.’

The moment the words have left his mouth Sam curses himself for being so careless. He had been caught off guard, saying the first thing that came to mind. But there’s something about the way Dean looks at him that makes him want to give in. There is something so awfully and painfully familiar about those eyes, eyes that have followed Sam all his life.

_Fake Dean_ , he reminds himself. Fake.

But as he voices the thought, Sam realizes it is the truth. Objective independent existence is how he will judge all of this. And maybe, just maybe, it’s real after all...? The tiniest glimmer of hope sparks somewhere deep within him, and it’s almost enough to take him out.

‘Sammy, with all due respect. What the hell does that mean?’

Sam can’t help it. A low chuckle escapes.

‘Yeah, that’s not of much help. Okay, you want objective? Let me give you some. You’ve faced hallucinations before. True or false?’

‘True.’

‘Eventually, they would end. True or false?’

‘True.’

‘There was always a way for you to realize it was fake. True or false?’

Sam frowns. ‘That’s not completely accur-‘

‘True or false?’

Thinking back, he guesses Dean’s statement holds some truth to it. There was always a scar he could press or an obvious flaw in the narrative for him to notice. He admits as much to his fake brother.

‘Well. If this is truly an hallucination, it has been going on for well over a day, maybe two. That’s quite long for a hallucination. Fact. Hallucinations either end because they are too long and require too much power, or because you realize they aren’t real. Fact. There hasn’t been a way for you to notice all of this is fake. Fact. So if you can’t end it, and how long it lasts doesn’t end it, but one of those things is required for this to be a hallucination. How can this be one?’ 

Sam stares at his brother, lips slightly parted.

‘Hey, just because you’re the one that went to Stanford doesn’t mean I’m the dumb one.’

Sam blinks a couple of times, trying to make sense of it all. That’s when a knock on the door sounds and it swings open. A familiar yet so unfamiliar face pokes around the corner.

‘Dean? I heard some noise, so I wanted to make sure you were alri- Sam. You’re awake.’

In the doorframe stands the one and only Mary Winchester. His mom, the one he’s never met. All doubts Dean had raised start crashing down. This cannot possibly be real, because his mother is dead. Has been for the past thirty years. Her being here is completely impossible.

And yet…

How would the Brits be able to recreate her?

There are some pictures of her, sure, but it’s not like she died in the age of social media and selfies. The only pictures of his mother that existed were physical, owned by Dean and him. The British Men of Letters could’ve lifted the info from her passport, yet somehow Sam doubts that will result in a clear image.

And another thing that shouldn’t be overlooked is that he has never met his mother. She died before he could. Sure, Sam’s imagined her close to a million times, and he’d always beg Dean for more stories about her. But he has no actual memories himself, no way for his mind to create an image that is so like the pictures. He doesn’t need to have met his mom to know that this is what Mary Winchester would look like. It’s almost as if she has come about all by herself. Independently. 

Sam is too scared to hope.

Mary looks at the two of them a second longer, before making a face Sam can’t quite make out. ‘I’ll be in the kitchen if any of you need me,’ she concedes, closing the door behind her.

Sam’s mind is spinning. Dean had been awfully convincing, so Sam has to give him a point for objective. His mother being here for sure could count as independent, as neither he nor Toni could possibly have had anything to do with that. But that leaves the hardest to prove of all. Existence. How do you prove something exists? How?

Sam’s shoulders sag as he takes in the room around him. His room. This is the last time he’ll ever see it. He is going to die in that basement, tied up and bloody. There’s something fitting about that, in a way. Him and Dean had always said they’d go out with a bang. Dying whilst refusing to give up secrets might not be as glamorous as they’d expected, but he hopes Dean saving the world can count as enough glamour for the both of them.

‘Sam?’

Sam faces his fake brother, and the way Dean’s face falls when he sees Sam’s nearly makes him come undone. But there’s only one answer. There’s a pit in his stomach, and the thudding of his foot is long past comfortable, and he still feels like he’s going to throw up, because he knows. No matter how much he wants all of this to be real, he knows it isn’t.

Not for the first time today ( _is all of this still the same day?_ ) a splitting headache threatens to consume Sam. Fake Dean becomes fuzzy, and Sam squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block out the light. This must be the hallucination ending. It’s bittersweet, in a way. He’s won. He’s outplayed Toni at her own game, and hasn’t given in to being healed. But what does it matter? When he wakes up in that basement, nothing is going to be different. They will still try and torture the answers out of him, and he won’t tell them a single thing. He will die.

Familiar hands are placed on his head. Thumbs on his temples, fingers in his hair. The thumbs make small circles on his skin, applying pressure, but not too much. Sam gasps, instantly brought back to memories long forgotten. Him and Dean in yet another rundown motelroom, Dean muttering over and over again that the ache is going to go away soon as he applies pressure to a sobbing Sam’s temples, the same way as he is doing now. Him and Dean in the back of the Impala, Sam laying in Dean’s lap and Dean playing with his hair, soothing the pain away. Him and Dean, pulled over at a rest stop, looking up at the sky as Dean urges Sam to open his eyes despite the headache to look at the stars.

His brother, being there for him, assuring him that whatever is wrong will pass, and that no matter how bad things get the two of them will keep going. Dean taking care of Sam is like a law of the universe, never disputed or doubted. Has anything ever existed as much as that?

Sam slowly opens his eyes, looking at his brother’s face. ‘Dean?’ he begs, his voice barely above a whisper. Dean nods, and for a second, the two brothers stare at each other in complete silence.

A gut-wrenching sob comes from somewhere deep within him. A place so dark and lost and guarded that not even Sam knew it was there. It wrecks its way through his body, making everything shake with the sheer force of _why_ and _how_ and _it hurts_ and _I’m free_ and _Dean’s alive Dean’s alive Dean’s alive._ It’s like a wave, threatening to take him under. But in that vast, lonely ocean, there is a safe harbour. There has always been. He just hadn’t been able to see it.

Real Dean wraps his arms around his little brother, and Sam doesn’t care that Dean will tease him about this chick flick moment later, because he’s _here_ and he’s _real_ and he’s _never going back to that basement_. Big, ugly tears make its way down Sam’s cheeks, and he’s sure there’s snot everywhere, but none of that matters. He clutches his hands in Dean’s shirt, his buoy on the rough seas, and he vows he will never, ever let go again.

Somehow, Dean gets Sam to scoot over to join him on his bed. And somehow, despite being not as little anymore as when they’d used to do this, Sam is curled up against Dean’s side and he fits perfectly. There’s always room for a little brother, Dean used to assure him when they were kids. Sam isn’t surprised Dean still comes through on that promise.

Sam knows all of this is real now. He knows it, he feels it, he believes it. He still doubts it, though. What if all of this is going to disappear? He won’t be able to handle that, he simply won’t. Dean notices the agitation in his brother, and directs Sam’s head onto his chest. ‘Listen to that heartbeat. How can that not be real?’

So there lies Sam, listening to that pattern he knows so well. The pattern that he never thought he’d hear again, but _god_ is he grateful to hear it. It beats slightly out of synch with his own, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t even matter that is foot is back to burning, or that his head is really killing him. Dean is alive. That’s all that matters.

At some point, he’s going to have to ask Dean how any of this is possible. How his brother survived Amara. How his mother is alive again. How they’d managed to find him. But for now, he’s more than content to lay here and listen. Dean’s hand strokes lazy patterns on his back, and Sam lets his eyes drift close, basking in the touch.

He has been through some shit. He’s not too delusional to not realize that. He’s been through the wringer, and it’s going to take a lot more than one epic crying fit and some burn ointment to get him through that. But he knows that when he gets to that, he won’t be alone. They’ll go through it together.

_Real_. Such a strange word, if you think about it. Sam hadn’t really thought about whether things were real or not in a while; he hadn’t had to. That had changed, though, and now how real things are is often all Sam can think about. But he always snaps out of it sooner or later. Because, you see, the Merriam-Webster dictionary lists real as ‘having objective independent existence’. And Dean by his side is the most glaringly objective independent existence there has ever been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I said this was going to be up 'later this week', and then didn't post for a month? Yeaaaah. Sorry about that!  
> My mental health's been rough lately, and this story made me really sad, so I found it quite hard to make it work. But somewhere along the way, something clicked, and words just started flowing. Words I'm happy I got written despite it all.   
> I am incredibly grateful to everyone who has left a comment. Your words mean the world to me, and I will take them with me on days where I doubt my writing's any good. Please know how very appreciated they are.  
> I am really proud of how this turned out, and I hope this second installment is what you hoped it'd be. This one's for all of you!


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